


Forgiveness To Rest

by sasha_b



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Baby Yoda is cute, Dadalorian, Din is tired as hell, Domesticity, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22780846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Din hadn't realized just how tired he could be.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 211





	Forgiveness To Rest

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a few months after the end of season one.

Lights flash behind his closed eyes, and the Mandalorian opens them, to see if that will help.

Nope.

It’s hot outside; the sandy planet they’ve landed on full of wind and dust and he tucks the kid a tad closer to his chest, pulling the cloak up further as the boy coughs slightly from the amount of sheer crap in the air.

He blinks heavily again, and shakes his helmeted head, attempting to dislodge the exhaustion and weighty non-sleep mood he’s got going. Not his favorite thing, and having to care for and pay attention to a child when one hasn’t slept in – he can’t remember how many hours, really – is the biggest challenge he’s ever had to manage.

At least he thinks so. The kid is coughing and scrubbing at his eyes, although he happily bounces in Din’s hold as they make their way from the starport toward the town nearest where they leave the ‘Crest, his little coos and babbled baby-talk keeping Din from falling asleep on his feet.

He’s knows it’s a dangerous way to be, but he can’t help it, and other than shooting himself up with some sort of synthetic energy source, this is just the way it’s gonna be. He’s not using synth stuff; he’d rather just do what he’s always done and take responsibility, force himself to stay on his feet, and be the best at what he does. That’s not new.

The kid shrieks and Din wavers before catching himself and straightens; he can’t slap himself in the face to stay awake, but he can pinch his arm, and he does, wincing at the pain and surprised when the kid makes a sound like _ow_ as he turns his huge gaze on Din’s beskar covered face.

“I’m okay,” he tells the little one. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but what can he do? The town is coming into view, and once they find and purchase ration replenishment and some other various and sundry items needed, he’s determined he’s going to head back to the ship where he can safely lock the thing down and sleep for about a week, hoping the kid will either find ways to amuse himself, or sleep as Din does.

The sun beats down and reflects off the beskar; Din can tell it’s polished to perfection as they begin to pass other people who squint as they try and look at him. The kid is still hidden under his cloak; the sand is better here, but the kid continues to rub his eyes and Din speeds up, almost tripping over his own boots in his haste to get the kid out of the direct path of the wind. He begins to sweat, and he can feel it slip down his neck and into the wrap at his throat, even as the waste that is currently his brain tells him to LAY DOWN NOW.

“Can’t,” he tells no one, and the kid blats a sound in agreement.

The town gates are old and crumbling as they pass through finally; most of the shops and the market seem to be close to it, lucky for them. The Mandalorian and the jouncing kid weave and bob around the suddenly crowded streets, the kid sticking his head out from under the cloak, and Din is too tired to fight him on it. The sling he carries the kid in is thick and the fabric is bringing on more sweat, and the sparks behind Din’s eyes are coming back as he struggles to focus.

They turn a corner and arrive at a circular shopping area; the smells of food and brewing ale cause his mouth to water and the kid to increase his bouncing ten fold. The town center is mostly older people and a few kids around ten; he wonders if this place had been decimated by the war and shakes that thought off. He’s too tired to deal with those emotions right now, feeling his throat get tight anyway and he curses under his breath, hoping the kid doesn’t hear him. _Kriff_ , he’s going to fall asleep on his damn feet. But he has enough credits to get them what they need, and maybe a few things they don’t. Bounty hunting is most definitely a complicated profession, and so far, it’s kept him and the kid eating and surviving.

“Eh!”

He jerks his line of sight to whatever it is the kid is pointing to: a small kiosk of toys and children’s things. He is surprised at that; how does this particular proprietor stay in business if he’s right about the war having taken a lot of the child bearing aged people with it? He approaches anyway, jumping the kid up and down in his sling as the little one starts to screech again as they get closer, his excitement obvious. The sound echoes through the Mando’s helmet and his eyes water with the volume, and he has to blink back the lights that glitter in his periphery as he turns his head too quickly to gently shush the kid.

“…can I help you?”

“Not sure,” Din answers, hoping the proprietress can hear him. He swings the sling around to the front so the kid can see the toys, and feels himself leaning to the right slightly as the kid squeaks and reaches for a stuffed – something, Din’s not sure what it is, but it is vaguely amphibian looking, so he’s not surprised. The owner of the shop’s eyebrows go up but she smiles and tells him the price, and he fumbles over the coin and the chink of it passing from his gloved hand to her palm is almost too loud. He shakes his head for the umpteenth time, and the woman frowns as Din forces himself to straighten as he surreptitiously pinches his arm again.

 _STAY AWAKE_.

“There’s a good food stall over there,” the lady tells him, pointing toward where some of the amazing smells are coming from. “And some stimulant drinks, which I think you might need.” She frowns more deeply when he doesn’t answer, merely nodding lightly as the kid coos and clucks like a bird at the stuffed – what is that thing?

They make their way through the crowd. The sparkling lights going off in the Mando’s vision make him start once, his eyes tearing, and the kid turns from his new animal to look at his guardian’s helmeted face in concern.

“Eh?”

“Let’s get some food,” Din answers, jiggling the kid and looking at the stall. “Then we can head back.” The kid smiles and shows his pointy tiny teeth and Din has to stifle a very un-Mandalorian like laugh. The boy _is_ fetching.

And he wonders oddly if the people that he’d stolen him from had treated him well; the little thing seems to have become attached to Din really quickly, and he thinks with sadness it might be because of the treatment Din’s given him.

Since he’d taken him back from the Imp, at any rate.

Guilt seeps in, joining his exhaustion and brain fog, and Din snarls to himself, tucking the kid into a tighter hold, and stomps to the food vendor, where he throws an obscene amount of credits at the confused looking person running the booth.

Ten minutes later, they’re making their way back to the ‘Crest, a wooden hamper full of sustenance in Din’s left hand, his right one free to draw his blaster should he need it. The sun is finally making a descent toward the west, and although the sand is still there and the place is swimming in humidity and hot as _shab_ , he feels like he can breathe a tad easier, with the hope of some of the heat dissipating.

The ‘Crest is there, and he sighs and only trembles slightly as he opens the side door, the thing creaking with age as he and the kid make their way up into the hold.

He closes the ramp, the kid shrieking only slightly less loud than the klaxon that wakes him each morning cycle, squeezing his stuffed toy as the Mando slips the sling over his head and sets the boy down in the tiny kitchen. He lays the basket of food on top of a few crates stacked on top on one another, a makeshift workspace that’s good enough for Din’s purposes.

He slumps onto his backside next to the basket, and opening it, roots around for the first thing that would be appropriate for the kid to eat – he’s hungry as well, but his exhaustion is outweighing the noises from his stomach. After having read up on this small planet they’re on a bit before landing, he’s relatively comfortable in spending one night here. They’ll have to; he’s also rapidly realizing he’s in no condition to fly, which is incredibly frustrating and somewhat embarrassing – but the credits he’d made were worth it.

They can eat this feast he’s bought, and he and the kid can both sleep and recharge and maybe the kid can actually get a chance to spend a bit of time outside playing, if the wind and sand dies down. They’ll see in the morning.

The aforementioned kid is still playing with his – “What is that?”

Din leans his arms on his knees and looks at the weird plush in the boy’s arms. “Can I see?” He holds out his hand.

“Beh!”

Din has to jerk the toy out of the air; the kid is overenthusiastic sometimes when using his … Din doesn’t like the word, “power.” It has nasty connotations, especially when used in reference to the _jetii_ ; he’s not sure how he feels about what he’s read since leaving the covert after downing Moff Gideon’s TIE.

His eyes are leaking without his say so again. “C’mere,” he says to the kid. “You can show me this while we eat. The food is still hot, so let’s do this.” He hopes his smile is evident in his tone, and when the kid toddles to him and Din lifts him into his arms, it’s almost too much and his chest is tight and he lifts a hand and unsnaps the helmet from his cowl and removes it.

“Kriff,” he sighs. “Don’t repeat that.”

His face is sweaty and he’s dirty; he thinks it’s been about three days since he’s had a sonic shower; he can’t remember the last water one. Perhaps on Sorgan. And then his eyes really are leaking and he’s so tired he can’t see straight and the kid’s little head is leaning against his chest and Din laughs but it’s kind of a sob too, and the kid turns his whole body to Din and pushes the stuffed animal into Din’s neck, repeatedly.

“Eh!” the baby speak-shouts, and Din winces and wipes a hand over his eyes, looking at his fingers; tracers of yellow things follow from his gloves as he moves them, and he blinks and forces himself to look at the kid. “No, that’s yours,” he tells him as the stuffed animal is shoved at him a few more times. “That’s yours, _ad’ika_.”

The kid puts the animal in the Mando’s lap, and raising up on tip toe, settles both his tiny blunt clawed hands onto Din’s face. It’s stubbled and dirty and now also tear tracked from fatigue, and Din tries to pull away from the grasp.

The kid shrieks again, obviously not pleased that his guardian would try and ignore his care.

“Okay, okay,” Din gives in and lets the kid touch his face.

The kid babbles a coo at him, and the breath that heaves out of Din’s lungs is the biggest one he’s felt in a long time – the ship is quiet and it’s home and they have food and a place to rest if only for a night, and yeah, he’s gods damned _tired_ , so tired he’s seeing things, and he’s crying without his say so, and the kid is trying to help him. The baby. Is trying. To help him.

“No,” Din says, and opens his eyes, wiping them again. He shoves the sorrow and sudden weird emotions away, and gently takes the kid’s three-fingered hands in his, moving them away from his face. It feels oh so strange to have someone touch his skin; yeah, the kid is his foundling, and he can see the Mando. But it still feels odd.

He finds the more it happens, though, the more he’s comfortable –

“Come on, buddy, let’s eat.”

They dive in.

*

Din’s asleep the moment his head hits his thin pillow.

The kid’s curled up with him, eating a melting dessert of some sort that leaks chocolate all over Din’s leg, but he’s beyond caring and snoring in about two minutes flat. The kid is safe, he’s full, he has a new toy, and Din is finally able to get the rest that he so sorely needs.

Bounty hunting is a complicated profession.

Whoever thought that up wasn’t damn well lying.

He sleeps, and –

A muffled sob wakes him only moments later.

He sits up too quickly, his head aching, his eyes gritty, and he’s twisted awkwardly on his cape on his cot. He turns to the side and jerks it out from under his armored leg, and looks around wildly for the sound that had woken him.

The kid is sitting on the floor, his back to Din, and Din wavers to a stand, squatting next to the boy, putting a hand on his back.

“What’s – oh.”

The food the kid had been eating is all over the floor, spilled and smushed and the kid sobs again, turning his face to Din, his little arms going up, and Din sighs yet again.

My god, is this new state of being for him? Tired forever? Taking care of a child that isn’t anything like him or what he’s used to? A helpless baby that could easily die as much as anything in his care?

A child sorcerer that could kill _him_?

He looks at the kid, whose face is scrunched in misery, eyes closed, mouth dirtied by sweets, hands grasping for him, him, the only thing the little one knows to trust?

He’s alone. Din’s alone.

The mudhorn signet winks in the yellow lights that softly burn in the hold of the Razor Crest.

“ _Ni_ _ceta, ad’ika_ ,” the Mando says softly. “Come on.”

He picks up the crying child, the keening coming from the kid who only knows he’s lost his dessert and wants nothing but comfort from the one humanoid that hasn’t screwed him over, or hurt him exponentially or tried to extract things from him or use his power for his own designs.

Din could have _fucked_ the kid over good. He almost did. He will honor the truth of that, won’t forget it as he and the little one travel the stars to find something, anything, anyone, that can help answer the questions they haven’t been able to figure out how to ask yet.

He crosses to the box of food and roots.

“Here you go.”

The happiest coo he’s ever heard warms him. The kid takes the bigger dessert in both hands and smashes it to his mouth, eating and smiling and laughing at Din with food on his face and Din laughs with him, despite his lingering _tired_. They sit together at the cobbled together table and the kid leans against Din’s armored chest and eats his sweets and Din rests a hand around the boy’s middle.

“ _Ba’gedet’ye_ ,” he murmurs. “You’re welcome.”

He absorbs the warmth from the baby, the kid’s small, jerky, child-slow movements oddly endearing and despite his weariness and the lack of rest and the change in everything, despite his fear in doing incorrectly what the armorer had charged him to do, he wants it to happen.

They’ll sleep tonight, and tomorrow, he’ll do some more reading up on the _jetii_ and the history they have with Mandalore, and yeah, it might be _kriffing_ horrifying, but as the armorer had told him, this little one isn’t an enemy.

This little one is part of his clan, and this little one is just a kid that smiles beatifically as he eats his dessert, drying tears on his face making him look helpless even though Din knows he’s stronger than most things he’s ever encountered.

The ‘Crest pings and pops like old ships do and Din watches his boy eat, and he relishes this feeling of wavering, terrifying never ending sleeplessness – it means he has work to do for a reason, personal work, work with a metaphorical face he knows, and for the first time in a long time, he’s helping someone that really needs it. Just him, just Din Djarin, not just a whole covert of people supporting each other. No matter his love and support for any foundling. This is - different, more different than anything ever for him, and he's not sure he understands that totally, yet.

“Scary,” he whispers.

“Beh,” the kid agrees, and Din nods into the darkness of the hold.

~

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this came from some really wonderful illustrations done by an artist called J. Shari Ewing. She does cartoony style things for Disney, and her instagram is chock full of great stuff. She posted a series of drawings of the child eating a huge ice cream cone, then dropping it, then getting a bigger banana split as Din's hand is seen handing it to him from out of frame. They're amazing, and I wanted to do something with the image.
> 
> Mando'a:  
>  _Shab_ is basically a Star Wars/Mandalorian word for literal shit.  
>  _Ni ceta_ is "I'm sorry."  
>  _Ad'ika_ is "son or daughter."
> 
> I also like the idea of Din/Mando being exhausted 100% of the time, now that his life has changed exponentially. I hope I managed to describe it believably.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read/comment/leave kudos/whatever. You guys are awesome. This is the way!


End file.
